Family Secrets
by nrlmuffins
Summary: Brian Clearwater thought his biggest problem in life concerned his younger brother's attitude problem. Little did he know his parents have been keeping a huge secret from him, one that quickly unravels when his mysterious uncle comes to town. Disclaimer: This story is a sequel to the My Werewolf's Keeper stories, and features Seth and Sarah's kids.
1. Family Quarrels

**Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material. -F. Scott Fitzgerald**

I turn the volume up as far as it can go, not particularly caring for the song itself, rather for the noise it provides. My eardrums throb in protest, but I'll take the physical pain over the emotional trauma.

As further distraction, I flip open my Chemistry book and attempt to make sense of chapter one. Most of my classmates are likely enjoying this last month of summer. Instead, I am already hitting the books in an effort to tune out the fighting in my house.

Out of the corner of my eye I see my mom open the door. I quickly pull out my headphones and turn to face her. "Hey, Mom," I smile, trying to act as though I hadn't just tried to block her voice.

"Any ideas for dinner?" she asks tiredly. She's still dressed for work, and obviously only just got home.

"Can you make fettuccini alfredo?" I ask eagerly.

A small smile stretches across her worn-out face. "We just had that the other day, didn't we?" She asks as though she can't remember the answer.

"Well, yeah, but it's my favorite," I reply defensively.

"Sorry, Brian, but I'm not making it twice in one week. Plus we're out of pasta."

"I'll go to the store!" I joke, bringing another smile to her face.

"That would be great, but I'm still not making it."

A small shriek meets my ears, accompanied by an overexcited five-year-old running into view. "Mommy! Mommy! Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

My mom instantly relaxes. "That's great, Molly-wolly! Did you say hi?"

Molly jumps up and down as she answers, "I going, I going!" and runs down the hall to meet my dad at the door. I know when she reaches him by the squealed, "Daddy!"

Mom turns towards the kitchen, and I follow, abandoning my self-assigned homework. Still standing in the doorway is my dad, with Molly in one arm and a pizza in the other.

"You sounded stressed on the phone, so I thought I'd lighten your load a little," he tells my mom.

"Seth, I love you," Mom gushes, taking the box from his hands.

Dad kisses her quickly but lovingly. "I never get tired of hearing that." After another long gaze at Mom, Dad turns to me and says, "Hey, Brian. How was your day?"

"It was fine," I answer, starting to set the table.

"Just fine?" Dad asks. "Not even really fine?"

I roll my eyes, but smile as I answer. "Sure, Dad. My day was really fine. Fine and dandy in fact."

"There we go," he winks, satisfied. My dad is always so happy, and as annoying as it can be sometimes, it's my favorite thing about him.

"Molly-wolly, can you go get Alex?" Mom asks carefully. I bite my lip. You know things are bad when Mom has to resort to using Molly's irresistibility for her own gain.

But Molly, oblivious to how crucial her task is, skips down the hall and cheerfully calls Alex to dinner. Predictably, she succeeds where anyone else would have failed.

"Hey, Alex, how was your day?" Dad asks as he pours milk for everyone.

"Fine. I don't want milk," he snaps. Dad gives him a patient, yet warning look. Alex looks away and mumbles, "I'll get my own drink." Dad has this natural aura of leadership and authority that usually makes us listen to him. I don't understand it, but I admire it. Maybe it comes with being the man of the house.

Dinner proceeds normally, with both Mom and Dad trying to get everyone to share their day. Molly happily divulges the adventures she had with her various imaginary friends, and I throw in a comment or two about the book I'm reading. Alex says nothing.

Not even ten minutes have passed when my brother stands up to put his plate in the sink. "Alex, can you sit down? I have something I need to tell everyone," Mom says.

Alex takes his good, sweet time sitting back down, then begins ripping his napkin, making a show of being bored out of his mind. Mom pretends not to see this.

"What's going on, Mom?" I ask, trying to compensate for Alex's lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, we are going to have a very special guest for dinner on Friday," Mom begins, barely able to contain her excitement.

"Santa?" Molly yells, jumping out of her seat.

"Molly, Santa comes at Christmas, which is in December," I correct.

"What month is it, Molly-wolly?" Dad asks, smiling.

Molly thinks it over for a moment. "December!" she cheers.

Dad laughs. "Close. It's August."

"Easter Bunny?" Molly asks hopefully.

Alex rolls his eyes and starts, "Molly, Santa and the Easter Bunny aren't-"

I kick him hard in the shin and earn myself a death glare.

"I was going to say 'coming'," Alex growls.

"Sure you were," I mumble.

Mom regains control of the conversation. "Actually, your Uncle Jake is coming for dinner."

Uncle Jake. For all intents and purposes, he is just as mythical as Santa and the Easter Bunny. Uncle Jake is someone I hear about several times a week. Someone who calls on every birthday and Christmas. Someone who sends presents and candy on literally every holiday. Someone my parents call all the time. Someone I've seen countless pictures of. Still, he's someone I have never met.

"Really?" I ask, not daring to believe it.

"Yeah, really!" Mom smiles wider than I have ever seen her do in a while, and there is a warm, rosy glow in her cheeks.

"Is everyone coming, or just him?" Dad asks quietly, as though hoping we don't pay him any attention.

"Everyone, I think. Bella wants to visit her dad," Mom replies in the same volume.

The semi-private conversation catches Alex's attention. "Who's everyone? Do we have other long-lost relatives we don't know about?"

Mom dodges the question. "It's not his fault he hasn't been around to visit."

"Then why doesn't he?" Alex demands.

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Mom simply ignores the question this time. "Alex, could you do the dishes, please?"

"Why can't Brian do it?" he snaps.

"Because Brian is taking out the trash."

"Well, I'll do that, and Brian can do the dishes," Alex says, standing up and grabbing the garbage bag.

"No, Alex, that's not what I asked," Mom says firmly, but Alex ignores her and heads for the door. "Alexander!"

But he's already outside. When he comes back in, Dad stops him and orders, "Apologize to your mother for disobeying her."

"Why? I still helped, didn't I?" Alex says.

Mom starts to raise her voice as she starts, "That is not the point, the point is-"

Alex cuts her off. "No, the point is that everyone here hates me, so why do I bother?" Then he stomps off to his room.

An awkward silence follows the slam of my brother's door. After a few seconds, Molly breaks it, singing cheerfully. She obviously doesn't understand what just happened.

"Sarah," Dad puts his arm around Mom to comfort her.

"I'm fine," Mom lies. All the excitement from her big announcement has left her face, and she is once again trapped in her constant, tired state that Alex causes.

The sad part is, it wasn't always like this.

Alex used to be a fun-loving, carefree kid that everyone wanted to be around. He made me incredibly proud to be his older brother. Alex never fought with anyone, and always went out of his way to help Mom. Alex has never been the best at school, but was never shy about asking for my help. In return, he taught me how to shoot a basket, beat everyone (except himself, of course) at videogames, and he even helped me talk to girls. Not that it worked, but that was my fault, not his.

But when he started middle school, everything changed, and to this day, I still have no idea why. It happened slowly, so that no one realized what was happening until it was too late. Alex became quieter, and rarely expressed any interest in doing anything with friends. He stopped asking me for help, and rarely helped me. He would have days where he was clingy to the point I'd have to lock my door to even do my homework, to days where no amount of knocking would get me into his room. He'd make dinner for Mom one day, then yell at her for making something he didn't like the next.

Slowly, the bad days started to be more frequent than the good ones, and eventually they stopped altogether. Mom is losing her mind, afraid to do anything that could upset Alex, but also afraid not to punish him for acting this way. Seeing Mom like this kills Dad, but there is nothing he can do to fix it. Molly doesn't completely understand, but Alex's behavior still upsets her. As for me, being the empathetic idiot I am, not only am I suffering for my sake, but also for the sake of my family. Some nights, I lay awake for hours, asking why my family is being torn apart from the inside out. Some nights, I wish I was someone, anyone else.


	2. Understanding Fear

**Whenever we're afraid, it's because we don't know enough. If we understood enough, we would never be afraid. -Earl Nightingale**

The next morning I wake up feeling, for lack of a better term, weird. I just don't feel quite like myself. Also, everything feels cooler than it usually does. I don't know, maybe I'm just getting sick. That would be me, getting sick in the summer.

I'm starving, so I make my way towards the kitchen. Mom is already there, working, with Molly playing playdoh on the other side of the table.

Mom looks up as I walk in. "Morning, honey. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, fine," I mumble sleepily. Mom nods then turns her attention back to her work. When she just wrote for the Quileute Weekly Newsletter, she worked almost exclusively from home. But, as the editor of the now Bi-Weekly Quileute Gazette, she has to actually go to the place several days a week. Still, she spends a lot of time working from home. She claims it's because she wants to be here with us. I'm sure that's part of it, but I think she just wants to work in her pajamas.

"Mom, do we have any waffle mix? I'm starving," I ask.

She barely looks up. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. It's um… in the pantry," she replies distractedly.

I can't cook at all, and I know Mom won't make the waffles for me, so when I see the words, "Just add water!", Aunt Jemima becomes my favorite aunt. Sorry, Aunt Leah.

A few minutes later, I add more mix to the waffle iron to start a second waffle. Then I drench my first waffle in syrup and finish eating it long before the next one is ready. I keep making and eating waffles, and by my fourth, I feel mostly satisfied. But I start a fifth one, just in case.

"How many waffles have you eaten?" Mom asks, cleaning up her things.

"This is my fifth," I admit.

Mom's eyes bug out and her jaw drops a little. "Seriously? You're that hungry?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrug. She does have a right to be shocked, considering I rarely eat even a second waffle. I don't usually have much of an appetite.

Mom watches me carefully, her eyes stopping at my ankles. "Are you wearing Alex's pants?" she asks, confused.

I look down, and sure enough, my pants are a good two inches short. "No. I guess they must have shrunk in the wash or something," I rationalize. Still, a nagging voice in my head reminds me that these pants were slightly too big when I put them on last night.

Mom's eyes flicker from my ankle to the waffle maker, then back to my ankle. "Okay," she says slowly.

"I swear, Mom, I didn't do anything to them," I promise firmly.

"I believe you," she says, but doesn't stop watching me with that strange, pondering look in her eyes. After a moment or two, she looks back down at her things and casually changes the subject. "Why don't you go ask Alex if he wants a waffle?"

"Okay," I agree, grateful for an escape from my mother's questioning gaze. I walk down the hall and try turning the knob on Alex's door. When it doesn't budge, I knock lightly. Or at least, I thought I knocked lightly. Instead, a harder, more urgent sounding knock comes out.

From inside the room, Alex calls, "What?"

"Can you open the door?" I call back, annoyed. I hate talking through doors.

"Who is it?"  
"Brian."

"What do you want?"

"Open the door!" I say, slightly more forcibly than I meant to.

After a good minute, Alex sees fit to open the door. "What?" he demands.

"Do you want a waffle?" I ask as kindly as I can.

"No," he replies shortly, and makes to close the door.

Reflexively, I catch it before it moves much more than an inch. I'm surprised by how quickly I manage that. "Are you sure? Aunt Jemima will be offended."

"She'll live," Alex snaps, pushing the door with both hands. Even with only one hand on my side, I am able to significantly slow his progress.

"Okay, but you're missing out," I add.

"Don't care," he replies. I let go of the door, and without anything to balance his force, the door slams in my face.

Every day I wake up feeling weird. The hem line of my pants creeps up my leg in the night, to the point I start wearing shorts, just to avoid walking around in awkward capri-pajamas. I usually get really cold at night, but lately I've been perfectly warm. Maybe the weather's heating up.

I'm constantly starving, and find myself eating double or triple what I used to. One day I run down to the store, because I ate all the no-cooking-required food we had, and I know Mom will notice and be annoyed. That trip brings another strange discovery- the half-mile walk should have left me gasping for breath. Instead, I jog the whole way and maintain a steady heartbeat.

Other than that jog to the store, I don't do any form of exercise, and am incredibly surprised to notice my arms and abs are becoming more defined. Not that I'm complaining, but still. It's strange. And when I lift Molly, it's as though she's as light as she was when she was a baby. It doesn't make sense.

None of these changes are exactly bad, so I try to ignore the internal questions and enjoy the benefits. Neither of my parents say anything, except for a few passing comments about "eating us out of house and home" and how I'll "need all new clothes when school starts". Still, I know they're watching me. Their gaze gives me an uneasy feeling, as though they're waiting for something to happen. Something bad.

Two nights before Uncle Jake comes for dinner, I sneak out of my room and tiptoe down the hallway. My parents should be asleep, and I'm starving. Again.

"Sarah, I'm sure it's nothing," I hear my dad whisper.

I stop dead in the hallway. Crap. They're still up.

"Seth, he's grown a good foot just this week. That's not normal," Mom hisses back, a slight note of hysteria in her voice.

"Sure it is. He's almost sixteen. It's about time he hit his growth spurt," Dad replies.

"Yeah, but even during a normal growth spurt, he shouldn't grow that much in that little time. Should he?"

Dad chuckles. "And you're a good judge of what a 'normal' growth spurt is? The only teenage boys you watched go through a growth spurt were your brother and me. And we didn't exactly have 'normal' growth spurts."

"I know. But Brian's isn't normal either!" Mom moans.

"Sarah, it's okay," Dad says soothingly.

"It's just too much of a coincidence," she sighs.

"But they won't even be here until tomorrow, and it takes a few days. Or even weeks, really."

"But what if in anticipation-"

"It doesn't work that way," Dad says firmly. "There needs to be an active threat for the gene to be triggered."

"Well what if there are others already here?" Mom demands.

"There aren't." Dad says simply.

"Really? How would you know?" she asks dubiously.

"I may have quit, but I didn't lose my senses."

Mom takes a deep breath before saying, "Seth, don't lie to me. You're worried."

"Of course I am! I don't want this for my son. Yeah, I enjoyed it, but Brian is so much smarter than I was. I want him to be able to focus on school. And he has too much on his mind as it is. He doesn't need that responsibility. But still, logically, there is nothing to be worried about."

Mom laughs grimly. "When has any of this ever been logical?"

"Well, never, but still." There is a moment of silence, broken by my parents laughing quietly like the high school sweethearts they are.

"But seriously," Mom says when she stops laughing. "I don't want to go through this again. It was bad enough the first time." Her voice breaks at the end.

"Hey, hey, it's fine! Don't cry, don't even worry for a minute. I promise everything will be alright," Dad whispers softly.

"What if you're wrong?" Mom sniffs. "And don't say you're not. Seriously, what would we do?"

Dad sighs. "Then we deal with it."

I turn and silently reenter my room. Somehow, I'm not hungry anymore.


	3. Anger is Madness

**Anger is a short madness. -Horace**

The next morning, I wake up feeling as weird as usual. However, today I also feel slightly annoyed for no reason. Maybe it's because my parents were talking about me last night. It's not like that might make anyone just a little self-conscious.

I've been shrugging this whole thing off, but after my mother's near-meltdown last night, I'm reconsidering. And that thing Dad said about he and Uncle Jake not having "normal" growth spurts? Did that mean something? Throughout that entire conversation, I felt as though I was missing some key component that would have made everything else make sense. Maybe that's why I am annoyed, more than anything else. I don't like being lied to.

I go to the kitchen for breakfast, and decide to just have a bowl of cereal today. Granted, it's a huge bowl of cereal, but it is a more normal breakfast than five waffles.

"Morning, honey!" Mom says cheerfully from behind me. I don't turn around, not trusting myself to keep a straight face.

"Morning," I grumble back.

"I'm taking Molly to the beach, okay?" she says, walking closer to me.

"Kay, Mom." I pour milk into my cereal.

"Brian?" Mom is right next to me, obviously expecting me to look at her. I take a second to find a casual expression, then turn to face her.

"Yeah?"

Mom surveys me for a moment, and I try desperately not to let my face betray anything. "Nothing," she says, and kisses my cheek. Pulling away, she looks very concerned.

"You're not feeling sick, are you?" she asks.

"I'm fine!" I snap, pouring more milk into my cereal. She continues to stare at me. I slam the milk down. "Stop looking at me like that!"

Mom is taken aback. "Like what? I wasn't looking at you any differently," she lies, turning towards the couch where Molly is sitting. A wave of heat washes over me, and I have to shut my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself. I tell myself that it's not worth getting upset over this.

"We'll be back in an hour or two," Mom calls, not looking at me.

"Love you," I call sincerely.

"Love you too, honey," she replies, which is enough to remind me why I don't want to be mad at my mother.

I find myself getting annoyed over random, insignificant things as I go through my day. More than once I have to close my eyes and just breathe. It's something I learned from my dad, and in result, I rarely get upset. So, I have no idea what's wrong with me today.

By dinner, I am barely containing this irrational irritation. I feel like I just need to scream or punch something, but I don't want to. Temper tantrums are Alex's claim to fame, and I wouldn't dare steal that from him.

"You all remember that Uncle Jake is coming for dinner tomorrow, right?" Mom asks. We all nod with our mouths full. "Oh, and Aunt Rachel, Uncle Paul, and the kids are coming, too."

"I thought Uncle Jake was Dad's brother?" Alex says.

"Well I consider him a brother, but technically he's not," Dad shrugs.

"Okay, if I don't even know how he's related to me, why do I have to meet him?" Alex demands.

I'm in no mood to deal with Alex's stupidity right now, so I snap, "What, do you have something better to do? Because no one cares."

I fully expect Alex to counter with another "no one cares about me" line, but instead he stares at me in shock, along with the rest of my family. Have I mentioned I'm never angry about anything? I realize I'm shaking, and take a breath to calm myself. I stop shaking, but it's suddenly very hot in here.

"Brian, are you alright?" Dad asks slowly and calmly.

"I'm fine!" I snap. The shaking starts again, and I breathe deeply. "I'm fine," I amend in a calmer voice.

"Why don't you go lay down for a minute or two?" Dad suggests. Part of me wants to yell that I'm fine again. But that would be stupid, so I take another deep breath and nod.

After a good fifteen minutes lying on my bed with a pillow over my head, I finally feel relaxed enough to finish my dinner. I don't know what's wrong with me today, but I focus on the thought of finishing my dinner and then going straight to bed. I don't want to be like this when I meet Uncle Jake.

I open my door in time to watch Molly skip down the hall, chatting away to her favorite invisible pal, Jenny Giraffe. Smiling slightly at her innocence, I walk towards the kitchen. I take two steps in when Alex decides he wants to leave.

"Move," he orders as he nearly knocks me over. My calm, cheerful mood immediately vanishes. It's as if every little, annoying thing that happened to me today has been added to a balance, and being shoved out of the way is the final feather that tips the scales. I want to punch Alex in the face. Every ounce of calm in me has been exhausted, and I don't have the control to restrain myself.

But I can't move. A wave of fire crashes over me, hotter than before. I'm shaking harder and faster, and can't stop myself this time. And then I spontaneously combust. Or, at least it feels that way. Everything is messed up. My body feels different- my head hits the ceiling and I feel my weight supported by both my arms and legs. I'm scared, angry, and confused. Looking down, I see my parents staring at me. I silently beg them to explain, because I can't find my mouth.

Mom's eyes are wide and her face is pale. She looks as though she's going to pass out. Dad has his eyes closed and drags his hands down his face, as though trying to rip it off. He swears over and over under his breath.

This makes me more angry. What right do they have to be scared or upset? What the hell just happened to me? I notice a strange growling coming from where I'm standing. I realize I'm making that sound, and then hear a yelp, like the sound a dog makes when it's stepped on. Did I make that sound too?

"Seth," Mom moans, looking at the floor.

For the first time in my entire life, I witness my Dad ignore Mom and look directly at me. "Brian, it's okay," he says calmly. "I know, it's really strange and scary and just- confusing. But don't worry, everything will be fine."

Somehow, I don't take much comfort in this. Why won't he just tell me what's going on? I find my mouth, and try to talk, but it comes out as a weird bark. What am I, a giant wiener dog? Please, don't let me be a giant wiener dog.

Dad looks at Mom. "Call Jake," he orders. She nods and goes for the phone.

Mom dials the number, and attempts to speak calmly, but soon slips into borderline hysteria. "Jake? Hey it's me. Well, I've been better. Oh, you know, my son's a freaking werewolf, but hey! I should be used to this, right? My brother's one, my husband's one- why should I be freaked out?"

Werewolf. Did she just say werewolf? She said werewolf. I'm a werewolf? I'd rather be a wiener dog. Please, let me be a wiener dog!

"Sarah, please, calm down," Dad says, taking the phone from her. "Jake? Hi. Yeah, Brian. Yes, Jacob, I am quite sure. Are you all here? Yeah, you're right, it's not possible. There must have been another trigger. He grew about a foot since Monday, and he hasn't stopped eating. Yeah. I don't know, but we have to explain this to him. Yes, but I was hoping you could do it. He'd take it better that way, I think. C'mon, Jake, he needs to be able to talk. You'll be able to hear him either way, though won't you? Okay, thanks, Jake."

Dad hangs up and turns to me. "Okay, Brian. Don't freak out, but in a minute or so you should hear-"

A voice in my head cuts him off, "Hey, Brian."

I hear another wiener dog yelp, and look around for the source of the voice.

"That was fast," Dad mumbles. "Brian, it's okay," he promises.

The voice in my head talks again. "Don't freak out, kid, everything's okay, okay? Just try to get outside."

I don't know what to do. Should I listen to the creepy voice in my head? It sounds oddly familiar, but I still don't find that very comforting.

"Brian, you should get outside," Dad says. I wonder if he can hear the creepy voice too. Slowly, I walk towards the door, dropping my head to avoid banging the ceiling, and squeezing around the table. I have to use four limbs to walk. Crap, I am a wiener dog. With Dad's help, I just barely manage to make it out the door.

"Get into the woods by your house and don't let anyone see you," the creepy voice says. I only listen because I don't want to be seen. Thankfully it's dark. I don't want anyone to see me as a giant wiener dog. Safely in the woods, I look around, hoping to see some sign of what I should do. Sit? Stay? Fetch? I don't want to be a dog!

I hear the soft pat of footsteps- animal footsteps. Fear roots me to the spot as I listen for the approach of an animal that sounds bigger than I am, even as a giant wiener dog.

From behind the trees, I watch as a giant, russet wolf walks towards me. My instinct is to run, but before I can move, the voice says, "Hey, Brian. Look, we have the same fur color! That's funny."

I realize the wolf is the one talking to me. Maybe I hit my head on the ceiling and am hallucinating.

"Brian? Sorry, but you're going to have to talk to me so I can hear you. Ugh, this is complicated."

I don't know what he wants. I try opening my mouth again, but all I get is another bark.

"No, you have to think it, but you need to think like you're talking to me," he says patiently.

"Like this?" I think-talk.

"There we go!" he says. Thinks. Whatever.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Well, I'm your Uncle Jake. But just call me Jake. 'Uncle' makes me feel old." The wolf makes this weird coughing noise. I think he's trying to laugh.

"My uncle is a wolf?" I moan.

"Don't judge. You're one too," he replies.

Wolf. Werewolf. What?

"What? Why? How?" I growl in irritation. Literally. "What is going on. Can I get some kind of explanation?"

So he gives me one. I listen silently as he explains that the tribal legends are real. Werewolves are real, and so are the cold ones. He mentions in passing that not all of them are bad, and he actually lives with some of them. Apparently, it's fine once you get past the smell. He explains that I'm a werewolf now, even though he's not entirely sure why. His cold ones have only been in town for an hour, so they can't possibly have triggered the gene that made me eat like a maniac, grow that much, and lose my temper.

"What happened that made you mad?" he inquires.

"Alex ran into me."

"Seriously? You're sure you're Seth's son, not Paul's?" Jake asks incredulously.

I explain everything that happened today to make me lose my cool over something so stupid.

"You controlled yourself that long?" There is a definite note of admiration. "I take it back, you're your father's son, all right!"

Jake continues his story. He gives me a quick run through of the last few generations of wolves, including the treaty with the cold ones he lives with. The Cullens. He also explains a few more rules and quirks about being a wolf. High body temperature, quick healing time, and increased physical strengths and senses are some of the perks. The not aging part could go either way, but a short temper resulting in pulling an incredible Hulk? Not so fun. But considering my (normally) calm persona, I should be okay.

"Well, I think that covers the basics. Overwhelmed yet?" Jake asks, amused.

"Completely. I don't think I would believe you if I wasn't standing here, telepathically communicating as a wolf. How does that work exactly?"

"A pack has no secrets. You can completely see each other's thoughts and feelings and everything," he informs me.

"Like the spirit warriors could?" Once a nerd, always a nerd, continually making connections.

"Exactly," Jake agrees.

"Then why can I only hear what you want me to hear?" I ask.

"Because we aren't in the same pack. I'm my own pack. You're in the actual, official La Push pack."

"What's the difference?" I ask.

"The difference is that I've spent years and years living away from La Push, and have pretty much lost my ties here. At least, that's my theory."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the Alphas of different packs can communicate like we are. I wasn't sure if you would be in my pack, but I guess not, since I can only hear what you want me to." His giant shoulders go up and down. Shrugging, I guess.

"Alphas?"

"The pack leaders."

"But I'm the only one besides you, aren't I?" I ask, secretly curious if there are other werewolves around town.

"Yes. Which makes you Alpha by default. Congratulations!"

"Will others phase now?" I ask quietly. I imagine a few of the guys around town as wolves. I don't want this for myself, and I certainly don't want it for them.

"Maybe," Jake says slowly. "But even if they do, you'll still be Alpha."

"I honestly don't care," I grumble. "What does an Alpha do, anyway?

"Typical leader stuff, giving orders and that. You'll get the hang of it. I mean, maybe. If there really are others," he adds quickly.

"But I don't want to give orders. I don't want other people to be wolves. I don't even want to be a wolf myself!" I sit down and look at my own russet paws.

Jake sits beside me. "I know, it's weird. But it's not all bad. Some parts are really fun. Like attacking vampires. That part's fun."

"I thought you like them," I say, confused.

"Yeah, the Cullens. But most vampires are evil, soulless, demons. Those are fun to fight. Not that I have recently, but still." He sighs, as though he wishes he could fight more vampires. I don't know what he finds appealing about that, but, hey. Whatever.

"There have to be some out here," he continues. "That must be what triggered the gene in you." He stops and ponders for a moment. "But you let me worry about that. You should try phasing back."

"How?" I ask, thrilled to know that I can control even a small part of this.

"Relax, and try to center yourself. Focus on complete calm," he says quietly, trying to help me relax.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to be as calm as I possibly can. And nothing happens.

"Don't be discouraged. It takes a while your first time," Jake says.

But I don't want it to be a while. I don't want to be a wolf for another second. I want to be me. I want to go home, eat dinner, and go to bed. I'm so mentally exhausted from this.

I close my eyes again, and just let my mind go blank except for one image- my bed. Nothing makes me more relaxed than the thought of curling up under my blankets and listening to the chopping sound of my fan.

"Wow. Good job, Brian," Jake says. No really, he actually says it. As in, I hear him talking in a normal human voice, which I hear with normal, human ears.

I open my eyes and see my human uncle standing in front of me. He looks exactly like the pictures I've seen of him. Well, not exactly, because in those pictures, he's wearing clothes. Right now he isn't. But, then again, neither am I.

"Yeah, I know it's awkward," Jake agrees, noting the look at my face. "But your clothes won't phase with you. I usually tie a pair of shorts to my leg, so I have them. Or you could throw them in a bush for later or something. You'll figure it out." He takes the shorts from around his ankle and hands them to me. "You can have these. I'm going to run home as a wolf, anyway."

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yeah, you'll need them if you want to go back inside, don't you? That would be an interesting way to go home." He laughs.

"But what about you?"

"Someone will bring me something, don't worry," he smiles. As I put on the shorts, he comments, "You're just like your mom, always worrying about other people. That's a good quality."

I smile. "Thanks."

He clasps my shoulder. "One more thing. You can't tell anyone about this who doesn't already know the legends are true."

"How will I know?"

"Your parents do, so ask them." He takes a few steps back. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. And remember, we've never met before, okay?" He raises his eyebrows.

I grin weakly. "Okay."

Jake nods and then turns and starts running, suddenly exploding into that russet wolf again as he heads towards Forks.

In a dreamlike haze, I walk through my back door and into the kitchen. My parents are still awake, even though the clock over the oven says it's long after midnight. Dad looks at me, then the clock, then back at me.

"Wow. That was fast. It took me almost a full day to phase back," he says admiringly. I nod, not knowing what else to say. I want to ask why they didn't tell me about this before, but I already know the answer, so it would be pointless.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Mom asks kindly. There is much more color in her face, but she is still obviously in shock.

"Fine, I guess. I just want to go to bed," I sigh. "Maybe I'll get lucky and when I wake up I'll find out this was just a really weird dream. If not, at least I will be awake enough to cope with it."

"It hasn't sunk in yet, has it?" Dad asks knowingly.

"Nope. And I really don't want it to. Good night," I say, officially ending the conversation. Both my parents wish me a good night as I walk away. But I ignore them and instead make a beeline for my bed. As I crawl under the sheets I close my eyes and try to forget the past few hours.


	4. New Dimensions

**A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.**** -****Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.**

I wake up late the next morning. So late, in fact, that it is already technically afternoon. I wonder why Mom let me stay in bed so long, until I remember the time I actually got to bed last night. Memories flood back, despite my best efforts to suppress them. I can almost believe it was just a really, really weird dream. It would be much easier to do so if I weren't wearing Jake's shorts, though.

I curl back under the covers, trying not to think. On the one hand, I still don't believe everything that happened to me last night. On the other hand, I'm wearing my werewolf Uncle's shorts. Things like that are hard to ignore. I get around it by putting on my own clothes and hiding said shorts under my bed.

There. Out of sight, out of mind, right?  
Wrong.

I leave my room for food about an hour or two after I get up. Mom is at the store with Molly, and Alex is Alex, so I am free to stuff my face in peace before returning to my room to hide.

Eventually, I hear my bedroom door open. I pull my covers over my head, trying to ignore whoever it is.

"How's the weather in there?" Dad asks, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Hot. Really hot," I grumble.

Dad laughs. "Yeah, it would be," he mumbles. His voice is low enough that I shouldn't be able to hear his little side comment. But I do, and it thoroughly annoys me.

I peek my head out. "Dad, can I just mope in peace, please?"

"Sure, if you can give me a decent excuse for why you're skipping dinner with the uncle you've never met," he replies, amused.

"He knows why," I grumble into my pillow.

"But what about Alex? He'll want to know. So will Grandpa, Aunt Rachel, Uncle Paul-"

"Does Uncle Paul know? Jake mentioned him in passing last night," I ask, dodging the question.

"Course he does, he was a wolf before either of us were," Dad answers quickly. I'm surprised by his natural use of the word. "So I could always tell him, Rachel, and Grandpa. But Alex?"

"You could tell him I'm sick," I suggest.

"No, then he'll be 'sick'," Dad rationalizes.

"Dad, please don't make me," I moan, throwing the covers back over my head. He pulls them off and looks me in the eye.

"Look, Brian," he begins calmly. "Are you going to let a stupid strain of DNA control your life?"

"DNA controls everything about you, Dad," I retort.

He shrugs. "So I failed Chemistry. The point's still there."

"Biology, Dad," I say, smiling.

"Details. Look, Brian, I know it sucks, but it's not that bad!" That is such a Dad comment, and I can't help but feel comforted by it.

"Fine, I'm coming. Is anyone here yet?" I say, getting out of bed and starting to search for different clothes.

"No, but they should be soon." As if on cue, my new super-sensitive ears pick up the sound of an opening door, and the high pitched hello of Aunt Rachel.

"They're here," I mumble. Dad nods, and heads for the door.

"But Brian," I look up as Dad adds, "If you feel like you need some time alone, you can gracefully bow out as needed. I'd rather you hide for a couple minutes than lose it in the middle of dinner."

"I'm not going to lose it," I snap, starting to get annoyed.

"Brian," Dad warns.

I take a deep breath. "Honestly, Dad, I'm fine." That time is slightly more convincing.

Five minutes later, I walk into the jam-packed kitchen. "Brian! How're you?" Aunt Rachel calls.

"Fine, you?" I reply. She doesn't answer, having already turned back to the conversation with Uncle Paul.

"Hey, stranger, remember me?" I turn around to see my cousin Addie.

I smile and joke, "Andy, right?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, shut up and hug me!" I hug her without thinking. She stiffens in my arms and pulls away quicker than she normally would have. Then she touches my face carefully.

"You're not getting sick on me, are you?" she asks carefully.

"No, I'm fine," I say, almost too quickly. I decide to change the subject. "How's college?"

With no further prompting from me, she launches into a full recap of her freshman year of college, including the touring she'd done with her a cappella group. They started after the semester ended in May and only just finished last week. It is nice to catch up with Addie, considering I haven't seen her since Christmas.

"So how are you?" she finally asks. "You grew a lot, kid. And you're pretty built now, too. When did that happen?"

Um, Monday? "Recently, actually," I reply, not exactly lying. As I stand there, trying to think of something safe to share, Dad comes to the rescue.

"Brian, Mom needs you, Alex, and John to put the extra leaves in the table," he says.

I apologize to Addie, and go to the closet where we keep the leaves.

"Hey, John," I greet my cousin.

"Oh, hi, Brian. Wow, you got tall!" he observes, staring up at me. John is a month younger than me, but has always been taller. Guess those days are over.

"Yeah," I breathe. "So, the table leaves?"

"John and I got this one," Alex says, almost kindly. For some reason he finds it in himself to act nicely around his favorite cousin, but not his brother. Because that's fair. And I'm not bitter about it or anything.

But today I can't let myself be upset, so I shrug it off. "Okay, I'll take the other one."

"Can you lift it by yourself? It's kind of heavy," John says uncertainly.

"Well, I'll try," I amend, despite my annoyed certainty that it will be light for me.

Alex and John carefully adjust their grips on the table leaf and slowly carry it towards the kitchen. After they reach the table, I easily lift my table leaf and walk into the kitchen at a normal pace. Maybe Dad's right- this wolf thing isn't that bad.

"Since when did you get ripped, Brian?" Uncle Paul laughs. I smile, mostly at the irony. I guess I should mention something to him. Eventually.

About thirty seconds after the table has both leaves in it, there is a knock at the door, followed by someone barging in.

"Guess who?" Jake calls. Immediately there is an outburst of hellos, Jakes, Jacobs, how are yous, and just general shrieking. Mom is the first one to reach him, and throws her arms around his neck for a hug.

I feel bad listening to their private conversation, but I can't help overhearing Mom whisper, "I missed you, Jake."

"I miss you every day, Sarah," he breathes back.

They are then forced to break apart as everyone- except us kids, of course- runs to greet Jake. Again, I overhear quite a few private greetings.

"Ew, Jake, you smell like a bloodsucker!" Uncle Paul grumbles.

"Paul, keep it down!" Aunt Rachel cautions.

"You don't smell that bad," Dad promises. But promptly after hugging him amends, "I take it back. You reek."

Jake rolls his eyes. "I've long since gotten used to it."

"Everything going well, Jacob?" Grandpa asks, at a volume I'm sure my cousins and siblings can hear as well.

"Believe it or not, Dad, I'm great. I still have trouble believing it myself, but yeah, I'm happy," Jake replies.

"Then I'm happy. But I would appreciate a few more visits. I'm not getting any younger," Grandpa grumbles.

"Dad, you look great. And I know, I know. It's just hard to come, you know?" Jake frowns.

Jake finally looks up to see the cousins looking awkwardly towards their stranger of an uncle. He smiles in our general direction, then walks towards us. As he does so, I get a whiff of a sickly sweet scent that burns my nose. Is Aunt Rachel trying some new perfume?

"Hi, everyone! How's it going?" he asks.

A few polite nods and mumbled goods are given in reply.

Jake nods and turns to Addie. "Addie? I can't believe you're already in college. Last time I saw you, you could barely walk!" I forgot Addie met Jake before. It's something I've always been jealous of, even if she was still in diapers.

Addie smiles. "Hi, Uncle Jake."

"C'mon, give me a hug!" Addie must have noticed that Jake's body temperature is just as high as mine, because her eyes flicker to me after they break apart. I determinedly look away. Thankfully, Jake regains her attention by adding, "And just call me Jake. The Uncle part makes me feel old."

All the adults laugh knowingly, and even I can't help smirking.

Meanwhile, Jake turns to John. "How's it going, John?"

"Good," he replies, accepting a hug. His nose wrinkles slightly, as though he doesn't like what Jake smells like.

Jake continues down the line. "Alex, good to see you."

"You too," he grumbles, hugging Jake for the minimum amount of time possible, his nose wrinkling as well.

Jake shrugs it off and turns to me, barely containing a smile. "S'up, Brian?"

"Nothing," I reply, biting my tongue to keep back nervous laughter. He hugs me, and I inhale what reminds me of a pixie stick. Or really concentrated perfume. He smells sweet, but too sweet. It's gross, and I suddenly understand what Uncle Paul and Dad were complaining about.

Jake turns to Molly. "Hi, Molly! How are you?"

In response, she hides behind my legs.

"Oh, I see how it is," Jake smiles. He gets on his knees and covers his eyes with his hands. "If I can't see you, you can't see me. You can't see me, Molly!"

She peeks out. "Yes I can!"

"No, you can't," Jake replies, shaking his head.

Molly walks over to him, pulls his hand off his face. "Found you!" she announces.

Jake laughs. "You did! Do I get a hug now?" This time, Molly accepts. Still smiling, he stands up and asks, "So, what's for dinner?"

Mom raises an eyebrow and grins mischievously. "Take a wild guess."

Jake crosses his fingers. "Fettuccini alfredo?" he asks hopefully.

"Yep," Mom smiles.

"Yes! I knew I loved you for a reason, Sarah!" Jake cheers.

"Gee, thanks, Jake," Mom says sarcastically.

"Actually, I'm not sure I want your fettuccini alfredo," he amends. "You're probably out of practice making it. Doesn't Seth hate it?"

"I do not hate it!" Dad insists.

Jake looks at Dad pointedly. "Seth. You hate it."

"I'll eat anything my beautiful wife makes for me," Dad amends, slipping his hand around Mom's waist and staring lovingly at her.

"Thanks, Seth," Mom laughs. "But I know you hate it."

"I mean, it's not my favorite, but-"

"Seth, seriously," Mom says.

As usual, Dad melts under Mom's gaze. "Okay, I really don't like it. But you can still make anything taste wonderful." He takes her hand and kisses it, his eyes never leaving hers.

Jake makes an exaggerated gaging noise.

"Oh, please, Jake, you're just as bad!" Dad accuses.

"Yeah, I'm a hypocrite, but at least I admit it!" Jake smiles.

"Well to answer your question, Jake," Mom says. "I'm not out of practice, because it's Brian's favorite."

Jake turns to me and winks. "I knew I liked that kid."

I grin in response.

"What else do you need done?" Jake asks.

"Well, I need someone to make the broccoli," Mom says.

"Yes! I call that," Jake cheers.

Mom turns to the cousins. "Alex and John, drinks. Girls and Brian, set the table."

I turn to Molly, "Can you get the napkins, Molly-wolly?"

"Yeppers peppers!" she giggles and skips away.

"I'll get the plates," I tell Addie. She nods.

Mentally counting the number of plates we need, I decide just to carry the huge stack in one trip. Why not? It isn't heavy, and somehow I can balance the precariously stacked dishes without any trouble.

I'm only a few steps from the table when Addie almost screams, "Brian! You're going to drop them!" She reaches for the stack.

I easily and safely move it from her reach. "Addie, I got it."

"Aren't they heavy?" she gasps.

"Not really," I say, setting them down on the table. My cousin breathes again.

While distributing the plates to each seat, my bored mind focuses on the quiet conversation Mom and Jake are having.

"So, how's everyone," Mom asks.

"Pretty much the same. Rose still hates me, although it's more of a joke now. Bella and I tease each other constantly, so nothing's changed."

"And how's Nessie? She's all grown up now, huh?"

In my peripheral vision, I catch Jake's face melt into the same love-struck, enchanted expression Dad wears when he talks about Mom. "Yeah, she's great. She has the most amazing personality, I just love talking to her. And she's gorgeous. I mean, she's always been beautiful, but now-"

"You know you're completely biased, right?" Mom interrupts in a joking voice.

"Oh, completely," Jake admits.

"I'd love to see everyone, though. How long are you staying?" Mom asks.

"Brian, what do you want to drink?" John asks as I set the last plate down.

"What? Oh, um, water," I reply distractedly.

"Addie?" John asks.

"Water's fine," she answers. By now Jake is talking to Uncle Paul, and I don't find it worth eavesdropping.

"So, what do you think of Jake?" John asks. He, Alex, and I are sitting on Alex's bed, something I'm only rarely granted the privilege of doing. Molly dragged Addie off to her room immediately after dinner to show her the new tea set she got. The adults stayed in the kitchen to talk. Part of me wants to eavesdrop, but the other part doesn't want to hear the conversation in case my name comes up.

"He's pretty cool," Alex shrugs. "But is it just me, or did he smell really bad?"

"Yeah, I noticed it too," John agrees. "Like sour grapes or something."

"Yeah. It wasn't that bad, just too strong, I guess. It smelled kind of like a sweet perfume or something," Alex continues.

"Why would Jake be wearing perfume?" John asks.

"I don't know, maybe he's gay," Alex shrugs.

"Or European," John suggests. Both Alex and I stare at him.

"What?" I ask, amused.

"Nothing," John says quickly. "It's just…"

"Yeah?"

"Well," John bites his lip. "Have you ever seen Legally Blonde the Musical?"

Alex laughs. "No, have you?"

"No! But Addie references it all the time, and, well, yeah." John's face is bright red.

"What does it have to do with Jake?" I ask.

"Not him, the gay thing," he groans and closes his eyes. "Look, there's this song where they try to figure out if this guy is gay or European. That's what I was referencing." Alex and I burst out laughing. John opens his eyes, but continues to stare at the ceiling, embarrassed.

"Well, he's not gay. He has a girlfriend or something," I say as soon as I can breathe again.

"How do you know?" Alex asks.

"I- Mom told me," I lie.

"Then maybe it's her perfume," he rationalizes. "He must really like her if he's willing to put up with that shit."

"Don't let Mom hear you say that," I say, referring to his word choice. Alex ignores me.

"I guess that would make sense," John says. "If he was gay, wouldn't he have the sense to wear good-smelling perfume?"

I snort. "Yeah, I guess." And because I can't resist, I ask, "Out of curiosity, was the guy in Legally Blonde gay or European?"

"Shut up," John groans, covering his red face with his hands. Alex and I continue to stare at John. After peeking from behind his hands, John throws them down in exasperation. "Fine! He was both, okay? Gay and European."

Alex and I literally fall off the bed, we are laughing so hard.


	5. Becoming a Leader

**"Leadership cannot really be taught. It can only be learned." -Harold Geneen**

The low hum of the running dishwasher echoes in my ears, louder than it should be. The water I'm using to wash the remaining dishes is as warm as it can be, but still feels relatively cool. These insignificant events are causing me much more stress than they should, and I wonder if maybe after a few more days this werewolf thing will seem normal. Or not.

"Need someone to dry?" Dad asks, taking the clean plate from my hand and rubbing it with a dishtowel.

"Sure, thanks," I reply.

"So, how did everything go?" he prompts.

I quickly check the room for anyone who shouldn't hear me say, "Fine, I guess. I mean, it's not every day you're introduced to someone you've already met."

"Speaking of which," Dad says, taking the next plate from my hands. "Jake wants to meet you outside."

I stop washing and look at him. "Now?"

Dad glances from the clock to the window. "Um, soon."

I pump more soap on the sponge and keep washing. "Is it about the trigger?"

Dad takes another plate, but doesn't answer.

"Okay, but do you know what it's about?" I ask.

Again, Dad doesn't answer. A wave of innocent, yet dangerous irritation washes over me like the soap on my fingers.

"Fine. But how am I supposed to phase voluntarily?" I demand.

Finally, I get an answer, but it's only, "You'll figure it out." He takes the last plate from my hands.

"Thanks, Dad," I snap. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I don't care.

He smiles. "You're welcome."

I'm now border-line angry, and finally realize he's trying to make phasing easier by aggravating me. I should be grateful, but I'm not. In fact, I start shaking slightly.

"I'm going now," I tell him without meeting his eye.

"Have fun!" he calls. Great, now I'm really annoyed.

It's dark enough that I don't worry about being seen, but I still feel very, very exposed when I have to strip in the middle of the forest. I toss my shirt in the bush, but tie my shorts around my ankle, just in case.

For a minute I stand there, feeling ridiculous. But that's good, because I hate feeling ridiculous. I let that spark the fire that burns down the walls I built up against all the irritation I've felt today. The fire feeds on my suppressed anger, confusion, fear, and annoyance. As the walls crumble, I start shaking harder and faster, until one last explosion occurs. When the dust settles, I'm a wolf.

Guess that wasn't too bad.

"Jake?" I call. I don't get an answer. Oh well, I figure he'll be around soon. In the meantime, I explore my wolf self. I shift my weight to each, enormous paw in turn. I lift each leg, testing the joints and wiggling each toe. I lift one ear, then the other, and then flatten both against my head. I wiggle my nose and tilt my head from side to side. This is so weird. But at the same time, it's almost cool.

I notice my tail. I wag it back and forth, up and down. If I reach as far as I can and move my head, I can almost grab it with my mouth. I've always wondered why dogs chase their tails, but now I understand. I'm curious; can I catch it? Before I realize it, I'm running in a circle, trying to catch my tail.

Silly? Yes. Entertaining? Extremely.

"Having fun there?" I look up to see wolf Jake sitting with his head cocked to the side in amusement. Dropping my tail, I sit across from him.

"Hey," I say, as casually as I can.

"Hi. I want to show you something," Jake says, straight to business. He turns around and runs deeper into the forest.

I follow behind, enjoying the feeling of stretching my legs. It's absurdly easy to bound through the trees, even at the speed my legs are carrying me. The wind blows through my fur, and I take a deep, beautiful breath of nature. It's so refreshing, I go for another.

My nose burns like someone poured bleach in it and my eyes water. I stop running, whining slightly. Jake stops a few feet ahead of me.

"Smell that?" he asks.

"How could I not?" I moan, another low whine escaping from my throat.

"What does it smell like?" Jake asks with the air of an annoying teacher who asks a question he already knows the answer to, just to see if the student is paying attention. I hate when teachers do that, but considering my grasshopper status in this werewolf business, I let it go.

"Um, like hell?" I reply. To be fair, the stench is giving me a headache.

Jake bark-laughs. "Fair enough, but specifically, what do you smell?"

I take a careful sniff, flinching. "It smells kind of sweet, but too sweet. Like sour grapes or burnt sugar or nasty perfume or something," I reply. Running my words back through my head, I realize it sounds a lot like a description I made earlier.

"Have you ever smelled anything like this before?" Jake asks in that teacher tone again. This time I have a better answer.

"You smelled like it when you came over. A little different, and not as strongly, but still."

Jake nods approvingly. "This is vampire scent. I told you I live with some, right?"

I take another sniff, and want to cry. "How do you live with this?"

He shrugs. "Eventually you get used to it. Plus, it's not as bad when you're human."

At least that explains why he only sort of smelled like rotting fruit. "So is this from one of them?" I ask.

"No, this is someone I don't know," he says.

"How can you tell?" I ask, trying to breathe through my mouth.

"Every vampire, wolf, and human has their own scent. You'll be able to recognize them once you smell them. You'll also be able to tell how old a trail is, too," he says.

"How old is this one?"

"A few days, maybe Sunday or Monday? You can tell because it's faded and not as strong it would be if he or she was here."

"It gets stronger?" I repeat, horrorstruck. How can this possibly get any worse?

"Yeah, I know," Jake says sympathetically. "I've found a few fresher trails, but I didn't want to get too close for now. But I'm pretty sure this vampire was the one who triggered the gene in you."

I automatically hate this nameless, faceless, demon of the night.

"So what do I do about it?" I ask, eager to do something positive as a wolf.

"Normally, you'd just take it out. I could help you, and it would be almost too easy," Jake says, his tone full of confidence.

"What do you mean, normally?" I ask slowly.

"Well, there's a little more to this than just a passing bloodsucker," he continues carefully. I catch the slur, the same one Uncle Paul used earlier. I guess it's easier to 'take out' a living creature if you remind yourself of the evil it is.

"What?" I ask apprehensively.

"It's a long story, and I don't think I'm the best person to tell you everything," Jake admits.

"Then who is?" I demand.

Jake is quiet for a moment, then says, "I think it's time for you to meet the Cullens."

Even through my human nose, the air surrounding the Cullen's house reeks. On the one hand, this nose is less sensitive, so it shouldn't be as bad as the smells from the trees. On the other, this nose is forced to inhale a much stronger concentration of the hellish stench. With not one, but several vampires nearby, I think it might be less painful to just pour bleach in my nose and be done with it.

"Yeah, I know. It sucks," Jake agrees sympathetically, noting my face. "But like I said, you get used to it."

"I highly doubt that," I grumble to myself. Jake smiles grimly, having heard my side comment.

Together we walk from the woods surrounding the old-fashioned white house towards the lair of the leeches. I try to maintain a relaxed composure, but my senses are on overdrive as adrenaline courses through my veins, preparing for a fight or flight- whichever comes first. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so nervous. Maybe it's the whole "natural enemies" thing. Or maybe I just don't know what to expect. Or maybe it's just a little of both.

I take one last deep breath before entering the house, which of course only makes things worse. Stepping into the house, I find myself facing nine unnaturally pale, yet good-looking people. They sit as still as statues, and their gold eyes follow mine as I enter the room.

"Guys, this is Brian," Jake says casually. "Brian, this is Carlisle, Esme, Emmet, Rosalie, Alice, Jasper, Bella, Edward, and Nessie." Jake points to each Cullen in as he gives their name, and each acknowledges me with either a nod or a smile.

Carlisle comes up to me and offers his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Brian."

"Thanks," I reply, politely shaking his hand. It's cold, and not just ice cold, but dry ice cold. I feel as though my skin is burning off, attaching to his. His skin is also incredibly hard. It's like shaking hands with a rock.

"You look so much like your mother," Esme says, also coming forward to shake my hand.

"I think he looks more like Seth," Emmet calls from the couch. I appreciate him not sentencing me to another freezer burned handshake.

"No, there's more Sarah in his face," Rosalie says.

"Yes, but he's built like Seth," Emmet counters.

"Of course he's built like Seth, he's a werewolf. They're all built the same!" Rosalie answers impatiently.

"Um, could we maybe talk about that trail?" I ask. I don't want to be here for any longer than I have to.

"Whoa, look at him, getting down to business," Emmet says approvingly.

The corner of my mouth goes up in an appreciative half-smile.

"See! That smile is Seth's," Emmet says confidently.

"Yes, but he's very to-the-point, like Sarah," Rosalie argues.

"But that's not what we were debating," Emmet reminds her.

"About the trail," Edward begins, ignoring the others. "What has Jacob told you?"

"Just that it's someone you don't know, but whoever it is was the one who triggered the werewolf gene in me," I answer. Edward nods thoughtfully.

"Before we explain any more, there are a few things you should know about," he begins. Then, with the occasional input from the other Cullens, he explains about these "vampire royalty", called the Volturi. About twenty years ago, they came to Forks. He's vague about the details, but I'm not disappointed, because I honestly don't want to know. At this point, I'm only concerned about the big picture, which involved not only the Cullens, but also the old wolf pack.

"The Volturi didn't quite understand that the wolves were working with us, not for us," he explains. "Aro momentarily entertained the idea of using some of them as his personal guard dogs."

"The wolf pack?" I repeat, stunned. Despite being a wolf for less than two days, I feel a surge of patriotism for my race of mythical creatures. What kind of sick, discriminatory person suggests something like that?  
"He didn't mean for anyone to hear his idea, but I thought the wolves had the right to know," Edward continues. Somehow, I get the feeling I'm missing something, again. That seems to be happening a lot to me.

"I knew he was considering it because I can read minds," Edward adds. I stare at him for a minute. He can seriously read minds?

"Yes, I can seriously read minds," he answers, smiling. The looks on his family's faces are a mixture of understanding annoyance and amusement at my ignorance.

"Okay," I say slowly. I suddenly recall something in the legends about vampires with extra powers, but this would have been useful information when I was first introduced to Edward.

"I'm sorry, I thought it might have been too overwhelming for you," Edward apologizes. Part of me agrees with him, but I don't want to admit it. Oh wait, I just did. Edward smiles grimly. "Sorry," he apologizes again.

"It's fine. But are there any other things I should know about any of you?" I ask.

"I can see the future. For humans and vampires at least. I can't see werewolves, though," Alice pipes up. "And Jasper can sense and manipulate emotions."

Oh, is that all?

"Yes, that's all," Edward answers, amused. I'm glad he is, because I'm not. But no one but he has to know I'm slightly out of my comfort zone, right Edward? Right, I hope.

"Okay, back to the story," I say, eager to stop looking stupid. I don't want them to think I can't handle all of this, because I can. No need to add that I spent all afternoon curled up in bed, freaking out over being a werewolf.

Whoops.

But Edward continues as though he didn't hear all that. "Aro pushed the idea to the back of his mind, but we knew he would ponder it later."

"So, I've been keeping an eye on all of his decisions since then, just in case he changes his mind, but it isn't easy to watch for something that disappears," Alice continues, slightly annoyed.

"So, that's what happened? You can't see his decision because Aro decided to recruit some guard dogs? Is that why you came here?" I ask, trying to piece everything together.

Carlisle jumps in. "Yes, we assumed the Volturi made a decision involving the wolf pack. However, at the time of Alice's vision there were no wolves in La Push, so it didn't quite fit." He nods at me. "Until now of course."

"I'm still confused. If there were no wolves, why would they come in the first place. Do they know how the gene is triggered?" I ask.

Edward nods. "They know everything we know."

That's a little creepy, but I try and take it in stride. I answer with a nod, that implies confidence, indifference, and calm. Let Edward and Jasper be the only ones who know the truth.

"And because the scent out there is unfamiliar, you assumed that it's one of the Volturi you don't know?" I guess.

"Or someone new," Bella suggests.

"Or, honestly, it could be someone completely unrelated to the Volturi. Maybe it's someone who doesn't realize that their being here caused you to become a werewolf," Nessie offers, smiling not at me, but at Jake. He smiles back. There's something oddly familiar about that smile, but I don't stop to consider where I've seen it before.

"True, but it's too much of a coincidence to ignore," Carlisle says solemnly. "Most likely, a member of the Volturi came here in order to trigger the gene in the youth of La Push. Once they've caused the formation of a small pack, they'd take more action, I assume."

Pack. As in, more wolves. I don't want this for anyone else, even if I'm starting to get used to it.

Wait, did I just say that?  
"How do they expect to get anyone to willingly be a guard dog?" I ask, more werewolf pride shining through.

"I'm certain that they have a few ideas if this truly is their plan," Carlisle answers.

"Like?"

"I have a few theories, each more far-fetched than the next. None of which I truly want to consider," he sighs. My stomach drops. If he's worried…

"What do we do about this?" I demand.

"For now, I believe the best course of action would be to wait and watch. Interfering now could cause unnecessary conflict," Carlisle says, and the others nod.

"Alright. Does that mean you're all staying for a while?" I ask.

Jake and Carlisle exchange a quick glance. "That is up to you, Brian," Carlisle says.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully.

"Brian, you know you're Alpha of your pack, right?" Jake starts.

"Right," I agree. My pack of one.

"Technically, that also makes you the Chief of the tribe." I stare at Jake for a second. Chief? I did not see that coming, yet somehow I feel like I should have. It makes sense when compared to the legends, after all.

I let this all sink in for a moment. "If you stay, could it trigger the gene in others? Would there be more wolves?" I ask.

Jake nods. "But if we leave and the vampire here stays, there will still be a pack. The difference is, if we're wrong and it's not the Volturi, you and whoever ends up in your pack can easily take whoever it is. If it is the Volturi, you'll be lucky to end up guard dogs." His explanation is simple, yet serious. There really is no way to win. Either way I'm not going to be a pack of one for much longer. John and Alex could soon be in the same boat I am.

"It's your decision, Brian. There is always a chance you'd be able to handle the Volturi," Carlisle says without much conviction.

"How many of you were there last time?" I ask.

"About twenty vampires an a pack of about the same number," Edward answers.

"They have that many?" I gasp.

"No," he answers. I don't have to be a mind reader to understand that hidden message. The Volturi are good at what they do.

"This is your land, and we are asking for your permission to stay and assist in any way necessary," Carlisle says. "But if you would prefer, we will gladly leave in peace."

His tone is casual enough, but somehow the circumstance doesn't feel that way. A few days ago, I was Brian Clearwater, an average, almost-sixteen-year-old whose only concern was his brother's attitude problem. Now, suddenly, I'm Brian Clearwater, Alpha of a wolf pack and Chief of the tribe. It's a lot to take in. But at the same time, I feel as though I've been ready for this my whole life. This may be the first time I've had to council with the Cullens and make a difficult decision, but I know it won't be the last.

I look at Carlisle with the authority that yesterday I didn't even know I had and say, "Okay. You can stay here until we figure out exactly what's going on. Once we do, we'll come to a new decision based on that."

The Cullens exchange a few admiring, yet surprised glances. I don't think they expected me to sound so official and commanding. I know I didn't.

Carlisle nods, a small, satisfied smile on his face. "Thank you."

I nod and return the smile. As impossible as it seemed not even an hour ago, I have completely embraced being a werewolf. Even beyond that, I have embraced being an Alpha.


	6. For Further Reading

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked "Family Secrets" you might like its sequel "Keeping Secrets"

Also, if you're wondering how Brian's parents met, check out the "My Werewolf's Keeper" series!


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